To the Edge of Night
by Rana Ninque
Summary: Faramir and Eowyn meet before the Houses of Healing in Edoras. But what will their families say about it?
1. A Combining of Forces

A/Ns: Another long Faramir and Eowyn story from me! And I've finally gotten a chance to write one of those where they meet before HoH. To give credit where it's due, I got this idea from Tonic's video "If You Could Only See."

The relations between Rohan and Gondor are really bad in this story, worse than in the book. However, the fact that people hold prejudice against the other country does not make the prejudiced characters evil. Thought I'd clarify, due to a comment made by Boromir.

Also, the timeline's really screwy. Just accept what I tell you on faith. Kay?

R/R, please.

Chapter One: A Combining of Forces 

"Boromir, again I shall explain to you the importance of this mission: Prince Theodred has just died, the king is in mourning, and he has been left alone to care for both his niece and nephew in his sorrow. We must send someone to deliver our sympathies to the kingdom!"

And Father, I shall again tell you that Faramir is not the one to send!"

"And who do you suggest?" Denethor snapped back at his elder son, he glanced sharply at the younger, as though this were all his fault before continuing. "You cannot go, we need you here! We need anyone of good leadership in these dark times. A soldier? How shall that be seen by the people of Rohan? They have high expectations, my son!"

"As though you'd have any lower," Faramir muttered, unheard.

"And Faramir is not the one!" Boromir cried again. He failed to realize that he was not backing his argument up with anything solid yet.

Denethor just returned this comment with a long cold stare, which Boromir returned with just as much steel. "We need Faramir in Ithilien! He is their captain! He cannot desert them. Contrary to your belief, Faramir is needed in what he does. He may not be everything you hoped for, but he is something. You gave him duties, now I expect you to give him a chance to live up those. I expect you to give him a chance to complete everything you told him to do, and not be sent away on some silly, and utterly ridiculous mission. Faramir is staying in Gondor!"

Faramir watched this entire exchange, shaking his head mentally—he didn't have the guts to do it physically, though he wanted to. He again wondered why his brother bothered to fight on the subject. So he would go to Rohan. What did Boromir care? Didn't he understand that logic wouldn't sway their father? No logic had gone into the decision in the first place, so none was going to get them out of it. Denethor just wanted a way to get Faramir out of Gondor for absolutely long as possible.

But Boromir continued to argue for surely another turn of the glass. Faramir was just about to try and slip away, as his feet were becoming increasingly tired and this was a waste of time he knew, when Boromir gave up just as suddenly and unexpectedly as he put up the fight in the first place. Faramir could see in his father's eyes that he was as shocked as he was that Boromir dropped it. He watched his brother storming out of the room, obviously not going to give up without drama, before turning back to his father. But Denethor was already headed out of the council room, through a different, side door. Faramir sighed. So his father had nothing left to say to him. The conversation had been entirely focused on getting Boromir to agree, and it didn't really matter one way or another if Faramir wanted to go or not.

He started walking around the room, pondering his life as he examined the stone walls. They were slowly eroding, unfortunately, and some of the stones would have to be replaced eventually. How his life was reflected in these walls. It was all fading away slowly, and so much was empty and unfulfilled. So rough and unrefined, due to his years in the wild. Yet these walls maintained a sense of what they once were, smooth and flat, not riddled with holes and missing pieces like they were now. Yet that was were their differences lay. For he was never not riddled in errors. Sometimes he wondered exactly what went wrong, and how he turned out the way he did. Why wasn't he more like his father? Or better yet, his brother? Why was it that drew him to that which was not what he should be? Why did his heart sympathize with the enemy, instead of standing strong for his own people? Why was his greatest joy not winning glory in battle but rather sitting in peace with those that loved him?

"Faramir?" Boromir's voice was surprisingly soft.

"Yes, brother?"

"Why do you linger on him, Faramir? Let it go. I will use all the bluntness that I have become famed for—as I do not have your diplomatic tongue—when I say that I know you are thinking of our father, and I know that he does not deserve that. He is wrong in what he thinks of you, Faramir. We both know that. What he said about you, well not really about you, but when he said that we needed anyone of good leadership, well you're of good leadership. You're the best leader I know, and the people love you. Faramir, we need you here, he just doesn't see it. I don't know why he is willing to sacrifice anyone to _Rohan_, but the point is that he is and there is nothing we can do about it. I tried fighting for you, but I realized what a lost cause it was and decided that if anything was going to work, it would certainly have to be another tactic."

Faramir shook his head, still not having turned to face his brother. He knew that until he could school his features into place, which may be a few more minutes, it would be a dead give-away that he had indeed been upset by what their father had said. He had sworn years ago never to let anyone see his weaknesses again, and it included his brother. Boromir too often saw what Faramir did not want him to see, but this would not be one of those times.

"Don't you understand, Boromir? It is not a sacrifice. I am not doing much of anything. We need people like you, but people like me are not as necessary. I do not have what it takes to make the important decisions at a moment's notice. I have no abilities to do what we need more than anything. What I am good at is speaking to others, as long as the subject does not involve losing something very important to our country, in which case I would not be a good person to do it, lest I ruined everything, for I follow my heart rather than my orders in such times, so I am the only logical choice for father to make. Do not be angry with him though. He didn't do it to hurt anyone."

Boromir grumbled to himself, and Faramir suspected that he was not swayed by the argument, and he sighed. It was so difficult to smooth things over between his father and brother. Why did they always insist on fighting about him? He wasn't really worth it. How could it matter so much that they couldn't be the happy father and son that they were meant in every way to be?

"Boromir, in addition to this, I want to go to Rohan. I've always wanted to see the plains of grass that stretch for miles around. You must let me go; you have no choice. But I will say that I'd rather you let me go with your blessings and encouragement rather than with scowls and complaints."

Boromir sighed and crossed over to where his brother stood. He turned him around to face him and, gripping him tightly on the shoulders, stared into his eyes and said, "Brother, I do not let you go with scowls and complaints. I let my father win with scowls and complaints. I think the man a coward, and I do not wish to see him break you down anymore. I would do all within my power to separate the two of you without having to also lose you. For that is what I fear about this trip. That you will go there to Rohan and never return. At least not the same as you are now. Yet I know, I have no choice. Farewell, dear brother."

Faramir laughed, trying to hide the fact that he, too, was scared of losing his brother. "But Boromir, I do not leave for another two days. You'll have time to wish me well enough."

Boromir just smiled and shook his head. "It will never be enough, Faramir. You are the dearest thing to me in the world. I choose no wife, for you are enough when it comes to speaking to someone I can trust. I am no romantic, thus I only need to be able to speak to someone like you. And that I am able to do. For you are always here. Yet now you will not be, and I do not know what I will do. Be careful, little brother."

"Boromir, do not fear, I will return." And Faramir left the room and went to his own to prepare for the long journey ahead of him. It would certainly be a time before he would see his brother again, but he had no fear that he would, indeed, see him again. At least once. For Faramir had confidence in his intuitions, and they told him that this trip would be important after all. Perhaps not in the way that Denethor seemed to think, for in that way it was rather a fool's mission, but there was hope in this mission that all could be put right again, in both his life, and perhaps the ties between Gondor and Rohan which had been severed long ago.

"Eowyn, you're being silly. Just stay here and I will be back ere you know it," Eomer said, in attempt to console his sister.

"Really, milady, it is quite important that you let him leave without you. What good could you possibly do at Westfold?"

Eowyn turned and glared at Donelle, her maid, and turned back to face her brother.

"Eowyn, really, you must stay and look after the house. Uncle has asked that you do that."

She gasped. "You talked him before you even mentioned this to me? Why can I not go with you? Why don't you value my desire to do so?"

Eomer grimaced, and looked over his sister's should at Donelle, who shrugged. "Eowyn, you know I love you, you know Uncle loves you, but we really must leave without you. It's too da… dull. There would be nothing for you to do. You'd be like a fifth leg on a horse. Not only useless, but rather troublesome. Eowyn, please, if you're worried about Uncle, don't fear. He'll be fine. I'll be with him…"

She looked down at the arm of her chair and sighed. Fighting her tears, she nodded her head and rose slowly. Eomer shook his head and crossed the space between them. He lifted her head gently, and smiled softly at her. "Eowyn, there is another reason I do not wish you to go. Wormtongue intends to stay here, and I need you to protect our people from his sway. I need you to be here. It's not just about your safety, Eowyn. It's about our kingdom. You can save us. Please, this is your chance."

Turning her face into the ice wall that was becoming to customary, Eowyn snapped, "This is not my chance, Eomer. I will not be undermined by these useless tasks that you set for me. You and Theodred both. You always set me to perform the gloryless tasks that you said could save our people, such as thwarting Grima, while you went out and become our heroes. You reap the glory of which I am robbed. Is it simply because I am a woman, or would I always be your doormat, no matter my rank or gender?" With that she pulled out of her brother's arms and fled the room.

She wondered, did she speak too harshly to Eomer? What caused her to lash out like that? It was, of course, true, but she would never normally express such painful thoughts to those she loved. She wondered if it was the fear of being alone with Grima Wormtongue that made her speak so coldly. To be sure, she did seem to constantly hide her fear of the man behind a chilly demeanor. It mattered not to whom she spoke, she always felt as though she had to hide her true feelings. She had sworn not to let any see her weaknesses, no matter the person. She would not let her brother see this fear.

There were so many reasons to hide. So many. Yet where to hide?

Eomer left the next day, accompanying his uncle to the Westfold. Glancing over his shoulder one last time, he saw his sister looking out the window. He knew that he had not said goodbye, but he had a reason for it. He knew now how she felt about him.

He shook his head. He knew better than to take her words to heart, but still, glancing over at their uncle, who looked older than the world itself, he felt as though it wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth fighting over.

Eowyn's words came back to him and he wondered again if they were true. Donelle insisted that they were not, and she told him that Eowyn did not really believe these things—of which Eomer himself should be sure—but the fact that he had heard this before made him pause and doubt. He thought of his promise to care for Eowyn. Had he done a good job? It was the second person who had said no. And worse, Eowyn was the only one in the world who mattered in this case. Of course, the dark whisperings of the other voice—no matter how little faith Eomer put in him—seemed to confirm it more than enough. It was just a little too easy to believe that it was true for Eomer to disregard his sisters words as easily as he might have, has she said anything else.

He shook his head. He wouldn't dwell on these dark thoughts. He had to get his uncle to Westfold before he could think about anything else.

He only hoped that that would keep his mind off of it for a little while.

Boromir brushed Silivren, and saddled her, all the while weeping silently into her mane. Why did his brother have to go? He thought. He lifted his head to glance down at the horse who so faithfully comforted him. His last tear glistened in her coat like a drop of a star. Wiping it away, he stroked the mare's muzzle.

"Why must he go? Why did father send him so far away? He's never been this far away. I cannot say goodbye to him. Not like this. I've always been the mounted one, the lofty one, about to leave on a mighty mission, but now he is. I don't know how to do it. I fear for him. 'Tis the real reason I did not wish him to leave. Oh, promise me that you'll take good care of my little brother, Silivren!"

Realizing suddenly that he was whispering to a horse, Boromir shook his head and started to lead his brother's mare out to await Faramir. Surely, this had gone to far if Boromir was to the point of speaking to a horse!

He suddenly spotted his brother walking slowly down the stairs of the citadel. His head was down, but he did not seem unhappy. Rather, just Faramir's customary pensiveness seemed to surround the young man.

And that's when it hit him. Why he didn't want his brother to go. He was too young. Too young to learn the truth about life. Too young to hate, too young to love. He was too young to realize how hard it was out there. To young to realize that there was no hope remaining.


	2. A Preliminary Meeting

Chapter Two: A Preliminary Meeting

It was beautiful. Just beautiful. How could a place like this be so unappreciated by his country? The flowing grass swayed in the wind. Such a magical ripple ran over the hills of gold. It was like the ocean, but fairer. It was so fair.

Shaking his head Faramir spurred Silivren forward into the fields. The wind ruffled his hair and he let his imagination go again. He imagined running across these plains, through this deep grass. It was so nice. He could live here forever. He had fallen in love with the country the first moment that he set his eyes on it.

He wondered what the people were like. Would he fall in love with the people as quickly as he had fallen in love with their land? He hoped so. He hoped that this would be a journey to be remembered. Remembered for all the right reasons.

He still had a great deal of distance to cover ere he reached Meduseld, the royal hall, but he had no doubt that he would enjoy the remainder of his trip.

And sure enough, by the time he reached Edoras, Faramir was wishing that he never had to leave.

At the gates, he dismounted Silivren, and approached the guard.

"I am Faramir, second son of the Steward Denethor of Gondor. I come on a diplomatic mission to bring Gondor's condolences to Rohan and her king, Theoden, for the loss of the King's son, and Rohan's Crown Prince, Prince Theodred of Rohan." He breathed a short sigh. These things got so complicated.

The guard nodded and opened the gates to the city. Theoden was being careful, barring his gates to a single traveler.

Yet the chilly welcome was nothing compared to that which he received upon arriving at the gates of Meduseld.

"Can I help you?" The gatekeeper demanded, rather haughtily.

"I am Faramir, second son of the Steward Denethor of Gondor. I am here to offer Gondor's condolences to King Theoden who recently lost his son, Prince Theodred."

The gatekeeper looked at him, as though to determine whether there were any lies in the phrase, before nodding briskly. "I'll announce your presence."

He nodded in thank you.

The gatekeeper returned shortly followed by an odd man. His hair was dark with oil, yet it seemed to share the same gold color that was present in the hair here.

"The King Theoden cannot welcome you, and I am afraid that you must leave now. We thank you for your visit, and bid you farewell," the gatekeeper said softly. It almost sounded as though he did not truly wish to say as he did, but that he had no choice.

Faramir looked incredulously between the two older men who stood before him. What sort of hospitality did Rohan show to her brothers? The second heir to Gondor! What beings lived here?

"The king does not wish to see me?" He asked. He had such difficulty believing that the king would turn him away without so much as a fare thee well on the way out.

The second man nodded. "I'm afraid that the king is much too busy for the likes of you who pretend to be important in order to be acknowledged by such nobility. He is in true sorrow, and you know not his burdens. In these dark times we need not _Gondor_ to aid us."

With a frown at the last line, for it sounded so alike to his brother's comment of Rohan, Faramir turned and headed back to Silivren.

"Lord of Gondor!" A woman's voice rang out.

He turned his head, and his breath caught in his throat.

Here hair flowed down her back, and it was a brighter and fairer gold than any other hair. It was so akin to the plains that were her home that he wondered that she was not born of them. She was dressed in a black gown, a color unbefitting of her. She should be in white, or green, or best, blue. She was beautiful.

"What brings you to the far north reaches of the countries of Men, so far from your home? Why do you flee us just as quickly? Will you not have some rest and something to eat ere you leave? 'Tis a long journey, ne'er seeing human comforts in between," she said as she descended the stairs towards him.

"Milady, I come to Rohan to offer comfort to your King for the loss of his son, and to offer comfort to your country. I am Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. However, I was told I could not see the king, and I was asked to leave."

The maiden looked over her shoulder at the second man, the one that made Faramir rather nervous just looking at him, and the man glared back. Tossing her head back to face Faramir, she smiled softly, though a fire raged in her eyes.

"I do apologize for this grave mistake. 'Tis true, My Uncle the King is not in residence at Meduseld at this time, however, you must at least stay the night, to gain your strength, and if you have the time, we would welcome you to stay until he returns. He will return only two days hence."

He stared at her and nodded his head slowly. "I'd be…I'd be glad to stay."

She smiled softly and nodded back. "Then follow me."

She looked back at the young man who was following her with his head down and smiled a little to herself. It was nice to get back at Grima like that. And there was nothing that he could do. The Lord Faramir of Gondor would be staying in Edoras, and he would be staying even longer than any had anticipated.

It was rather nice, she thought, of Gondor to send people for such little things as death. Death? People died every day in both countries, yet, this somehow was much more important to Rohan than any other. Not just because of his status, but because Theodred was royal in spirit. He did not dislike people, he was a jovial and amicable person. Everyone loved Theodred. Everyone.

And Gondor had recognized it. That was nice. It was thoughtful.

"Here's your room," she said to Lord Faramir.

"Thank you," he replied quietly. She smiled, and turned to go.

"Lady?" he called after her. She turned to see his face, looking slightly anxious. "May I ask your name?"

She smiled. "Eowyn, daughter of Eomund and Theodwyn. I am the sister-daughter to King Theoden of Rohan." And she turned and left.

She wondered as she walked down the corridor to the kitchen where her brother and uncle were. Were they safe? Would they return? Eomer was now the heir to the throne, meaning if they both died…

She realized that she didn't know what would happen. Normally, it would pass to her, but with Grima's influence, and the fact that she was a woman, she didn't know if she would be the next ruler after Eomer, or if Wormtongue would do that honor for her. Either way, they would each have to choose a spouse, and Eowyn was sure that Wormtongue would limit her options down to one person.

She shivered at the thought that this was what he had planned, and prayed quickly to Béma that her brother and uncle survived this trip—and everything following it.

She paused and noticed that there were footsteps ringing down the corridor. He no longer even tried to be quiet, for he knew that there was nothing that she could do, should he come to her and attempt to poison her mind. Gracing the hallways surrounding her with a quick glance, Eowyn decided to turn down a slightly longer and windier path to the kitchens. She would stop and request a bath to be sent up. That might throw him off. Ducking into the little room where the chambermaids sat around whispering. They had to speak quietly, for the walls were thin in this part of the house.

"Lady Eowyn!" One of them said, rather loudly.

Hoping that they would follow her example if she spoke softly, lest she be overheard by Grima, Eowyn said "We have a guest. I have put him in the nicest guest room we have, for he is of the noble house in Gondor. Please see to it that he has a bath and anything else that he might need. I am on my way to the kitchen to attend to his dinner. If Gritta would go with me, I would like to ensure that someone I trust is to bring his food to him," she said smiling. Wormtongue could do nothing to her in the presence of others.

Smiling, Gritta rose and and bowed to Eowyn, before following her out. The two women walked together down the hall towards the loudness that rang from the kitchen, as they heard the others scurrying to obey the orders of their lady.

Upon their entering the kitchen, all the clamor of voices ceased. Eowyn walked over to one of the cooks and gave her orders for a meal of fine broth, bread, cheese, warm wine, and—as they had no pies or cakes readily available—an apple.

She watched over the cooks to ensure that things went as she had asked. Finally, the tray was handed to Gritta.

"I shall accompany you as far as my rooms," she said, smiling at the younger maid. The girl smiled back, and curtsied.

Parting ways at her door, Eowyn breathed a sigh of relief. Wormtongue would not bother her until the morn, for she intended to remain in her room until then.

Frustration grew within Eomer, until it seemed that it was gnawing his very heart out. He was cold and snappy to everyone, and nothing would wipe that horrid frown off of his face. But he didn't care. He was angry with himself for having been such at bad brother, for being such a bad cousin, and for being such a bad nephew. He knew that his uncle thought of him as—like Grima had said—a warmonger. And he knew that he would not be returning to Edoras to look after his sister. They had received the decree that day. Eomer Third Marshal of the Mark, son of Eomund of Eastfold and Theodwyn sister to the King, was banished from Rohan. Forever.

What would Eowyn say? Would she hate him for not returning for her? Would he have let her go with him even if he had been in Edoras at the time? He doubted it. Yet, he wouldn't ever see her again. What would he do? How could he live the rest of his life without seeing his sister again? Where would he go? Was there anything that he could do?

It didn't seem so. He would haft to hope that Eowyn heard the truth, and not some lie told to her by Grima, and he would have to hope that he could see her again someday.

Someday. Someday so much could have happened, he was always waiting for someday, but instead, he was on his own, banished from his house and kingdom, for which he had fought so hard, since he was eighteen and before, and he didn't quite know what to do with his life. He could go to Gondor, and join their forces, but he didn't like the thought that there was naught a place to go but Gondor. For he had heard tales that they too grew dark under the sway of Sauron. Little did he trust them. He would not trust one in his own home, to be sure.

Boromir couldn't help staring at the horizon constantly. He wondered if it was another ploy of his father's to separate the siblings, as they never seemed to be together.

But why would his father send his brother to someplace so worthless and dangerous? From the tales that he had heard, Rohan was an ill place, and there were many allies to the Dark Lord among them. He heard that they were the breeders of the Nazgul horses. Yet he knew not whether to believe them or not. He had always placed some faith in the fact that nearby there was some sort of aid, whether willing or not was hardly the issue. Yet the fact that they were there comforted him. The fact that they might be against him frightened him. It would mean that Gondor was surrounded by enemies on all sides.

There would be no escape for Gondor.

For this reason, Boromir had done his best to protect Faramir from these rumors. Faramir, the one there now, knew not of the dangers that he might face there. Of course, there was always an idle whisper here or there that might mention something of the effect, but as long as Faramir didn't realize how likely this was…

He felt safer.

Until now.


	3. Small Revalations

Sorry that the breaks in the previous chapter didn't work. I'm going to revise it and replace the breaks with (A). For Some reason, the breaks never work for me on Fanfiction, so I apologize. Another apology: this chapter felt a little weak to me. Tell me what you think, and if you agree, I'm sorry in advance.

This chappie will be organized a little differently than the last two, because I'm not getting much of the story told very quickly as it is.

I thought I'd mention that this is unrelated to my other stories, even though I use the same name for Faramir's horse as I do in those. I just like that name for his horse, and that's the way I see her.

Chapter Three: Small Revelations

Faramir smiled as he looked around the room. Was it truly possible to be more content in a country so far from home than one was at home? It was so fair here. It was so peaceful, like there wasn't anything to fear—even the East.

And he couldn't help but associate the fair lady with this beauty.

He sighed. He didn't know what drew him to her, but it was something inexorable. He could tell as she spoke to him, and as she spoke to that odd man behind her, that her spirit was strong and could not be crushed. Yet, too he could see in her eyes that for all the steel she wore on her heart, she would not crush either. She was truly a strong woman to have such strength but to not use it without caution.

He walked over to the window and pushed the curtain back slowly. The wind blew swiftly yet caressingly over the plains, causing that beautiful ripple that made the land sparkle. He didn't know how long he stood there, staring out the window at the land.

A sudden knock drew him from his reverie, and he turned calling, "enter!"

An old woman obeyed his order, opening the door—followed by three men carrying a small copper tub. With a harsh voice the woman instructed the men in where to place the tub. The language was rough, yet somehow fair. Five men followed them and poured steaming water into the tub. Then the woman turned and smiled at him. In Common, she said, "Your bath is ready, milord. Lady Eowyn has just gone to see to your dinner. I believe that Gritta will be up with that soon, milord. If there is ought that you need, do not hesitate to alert someone. I believe that you shall not have difficulty finding someone." Another missing-toothed smile later, Faramir was alone again. Sighing, he approached the tub. It would definitely be nice to feel warm water again. After the several days that he had spent on the road, he knew that he probably looked a mess.

Shortly after he had dressed again, another knock rang against the door. This time, it was a pretty young woman, probably twenty-one, entered. She smiled softly and shyly, and set the tray that she bore on the table. Gritta, Faramir remembered. Her name was Gritta. Her hair was pulled into a plait and wrapped around her head. Her blue dress and brown shift were surprisingly simple. Most of the chambermaids that Faramir had seen had been rather well dressed—probably to keep the nobles' minds off of the presence of poverty.

As she closed the door, Faramir lifted the lid of the bowl and smiled at the smell of the broth. He sat down and began to eat. His brother's face suddenly drifted into his mind, and he wondered where he was now. Was he happy? He hoped that he wasn't worried. After all, Faramir could take care of himself. There was nothing to be worried about. He was fine.

Yet, he himself worried about his brother. It was not because he thought that Boromir couldn't take care of himself, he just feared that something would go wrong, and he wouldn't be there to help his brother. Or that Boromir was unhappy about something. Something out of his control. Whatever it was. It didn't matter. Faramir always feared for his brother.

_I guess that's just the way brothers are. Always irrationally worrying about the other one, and always wondering why his brother was worried about him._

Shaking his head and smiling, he got up and walked over to the window again, it was now sunset, and he was tired. He decided that he would explore the city on the morrow. He would see it's golden beauty in full in the golden light of the noon sun. Now, he would rest. He had brought one book—one that he didn't think that his father would notice missing due to its lesser value—so perhaps he would read that for a short time. It was always nice to read shortly before sleep. It left much to mull over that one did not turn to thoughts of one's own life, which seemed irrelevant and dull in comparison.

But he remained at the window until the sun disappeared beyond the mountains. He stayed there even until the twilight had receded, and the moon had risen. He spent this time in a thoughtless reverie. He thought of nothing in particular. This was a freedom to him. To have nothing, if even only for such a short time, to occupy his thoughts and worries. Though he knew that it would not last.

As he drifted off into sleep, he remembered the strange man who had told him to return home. Such a strange character.

_I hope I won't be seeing him again anytime soon._

(A)

What was the point of her doing this? Was it just because she wanted some peace and quiet, in a place where no one could reach her? Or was it because no one, namely the Snake, could reach her? Disappearing for the entire morning had become a habit of hers, and no one knew what she did during that time. They did not know that if they went to the market, they would find her there. They could not know. She kept any evidence of her interest in the common market to herself.

Breathing the clean morning air in, she smiled slightly to herself. For the next five hours, she would not have to fear anything. She would be a young woman named Lynet, and no one would question such.

"Milady, where do you go?"

Eowyn spun around and her joy sank. Who could have found her? She never left at the same time in the morning, so that no one could pinpoint when she had left. So how had they managed it?

But it was only the newcomer. Lord Faramir.

"Milord, what are you doing here so early?"

"One might ask the same of you, Milady."

"I…I…" she sputtered.

"I wished only to see my mare, Silivren, if my answering makes it easier for you to answer," Faramir said.

"What makes you think that I am not here doing the same thing?"

"Nothing in particular. I never said that you weren't."

"Oh, well. I…I…I suppose…I suppose I was going to see to one of the horses."

Faramir just raised one of his eyebrows.

"Well, if you'll excuse me…" and she started to leave.

He followed her.

"Why are you following me?"

"I'm going to the stables also, which direction do you expect me to go?"

Eowyn hesitated, for she dearly wished to maintain her privacy in the matter, and did not wish for any to know where she went, but she realized quickly that she had little choice in the matter.

"Very well, Milord. You've caught me. I actually have some rather private business to attend to in town, and I would rather no one know of it. The stables are that way. Farewell for now, Milord. Perhaps we will see one another later this day."

So, now someone knew about her trips to the town. Knew where she was going, and probably would be able to catch her going there again. She was saddened by this. As though she had lost some of the mystery of going to the town every morning.

It was also strange that though many tried, only a complete stranger actually found her. Was it chance? Or did it mean something more than an accidental crossing of paths.

_Don't be silly,_ she thought to herself. _What on earth could it mean?_ Yet she couldn't shake the distinct impression that something had drawn their paths together that morning. As though he was bound to discover her, and she was destined to tell him the truth.

_I think I will stay in my rooms this morning, to avoid future confrontation with him._ She decided determinedly.

(A)

As he left the Lady Eowyn, he suddenly regretted that he only had two days here. It would not be enough time to really understand the lady, as he really wished to. Somehow, in finding her there, he felt as though he had divulged a greater secret than had been stated, and he was intrigued. He wondered what her business may be, but refused to ask her. It was her private affair, and he would not pry.

Yet he could not help but be drawn into the Lady. Who was she? Her face was so grave, yet he saw deep in her eyes a joy that was not false this morning. To expose that joy more readily and more completely would be a task, yet he felt it must be done.

_Surely you do not think yourself the one to take this task on?_ He chided himself. No, he could not declare himself the one, though he for some strange reason wanted to.

_Just because of mother, _he convinced himself. _I want her to smile because I failed in making mother smile. I feel it is my obligation to have every sorrowing soul smile again. But it is not. I cannot help such things._

_Though I do not wish her to die as mother did…_

That was enough. He decided. No more thinking upon the Lady. He was tired of arguing with himself over her.

He didn't even know why he bothered, either. It was hardly his right to enter her life on a whim and ask her to smile. Not even hardly. It was not his right at all. He was rather ashamed of himself. He did not even know anything about her. She seemed stern to him, but her cousin had just died and her only other family had left her alone with a very strange man—whom Faramir could not but hope he would not run into—as well as many responsibilities. Of course she was stern. It was not probably the best time of her life. Certainly not a period based upon which he should judge her whole life, even if he had known her for more than a half a day.

Yet something told him in his heart that this was all she had left. She could no longer smile. She didn't know how.

_So if she can't? _he wondered again. He couldn't seem to get it off his mind, despite his desperate attempts.

_Then it is none of my business, _he told himself, hopefully for the last time.

_What if I'm the only one who can see the truth? I'm the only one who can see that she is alone in the world just like me?_

He reprimanded himself for thinking such silly thoughts. As though he was the only one who could possibly truly understand her! As though he did understand her in the least!

Yet the question went completely unanswered.

Entering the stables, Faramir finally realized completely just what it was that he had been about to do. If he dared to try to help Eowyn, it would mean only destruction for himself. In order to gain her trust, he would have to trust her.

And he couldn't do that.

No. There were suddenly too many reasons why he could not, under any circumstances, help her. In fact, to remain as far away from her as possible would perhaps be the best thing to do. If Faramir could name only one thing that he had learned from his father, it was to never show anybody that he did not fully trust with his entire heart. Who he really was. Only his brother could possibly come close to seeing him for himself. Yet even Boromir didn't know half of it. No. To assume that Eowyn would understand him was almost as bad as assuming that he could understand her. Or worse.

Silveren neighed when she saw Faramir, and he drew himself out of his reverie finally. Indeed. He would pay his respects to the King in two days time, and then he would leave. Never would he think upon the Lady Eowyn again.


End file.
